


If Only She Loved You

by Arriva



Series: Possessions [1]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Demonic Possession, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gen, Manipulation, Physical Abuse, demon!Alex - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arriva/pseuds/Arriva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard gets a call from Alex to meet her at Pacific Northwest Stories. It's not Alex who meets him there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only She Loved You

The person standing over him is  _not_ Alex Reagan.

She has her voice. Her hair. Her limbs. Even her eyes. But she has a cruelty to her features that Richard has never seen in Alex.

Richard lies splayed on the floor of Pacific Northwest Stories. Alex- not Alex, _someone_ who looks and acts like Alex, stands over him holding a stapler covered in blood. Who's blood again? He reaches for his head and feels a large gash on his left temple and a smaller one on his jawline. Right, his blood.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Richard," Not Alex says. She examines the stapler with blasé fascination before tossing it back on Alex's desk. "I always forget how breakable humans are."

Richard blinks, head throbbing. "What are you..." His voice sounds miles away from where his mouth should be. He tries again. "Alex, are you okay?" Because it has to be Alex. The blow to his head is distorting his perception.

She laughs. She has Alex's laugh. "Seriously, Richard? Don't you  _ever_ get tired of playing skeptic?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says. It's a weak defense, and he knows it. But to be fair, he's not thinking clearly. He pushes himself into a sitting position, wincing at the rush of blood to his head.

Alex ( _definitely_ Alex, his vision's clearing now) stares down at him. Her face shifts from amusement to impatience. "And I don't believe you for one second. Alex might assume-"

"Alex, you aren't making-"

"Do  _not_ interrupt me." The playfulness in her voice is gone. She crouches over Richard with the grace of a serpent. "You and I both know the person you're talking to isn't Alex Reagan. Still," she wraps her fingers around his neck, "if you need a refresher, I'm happy to oblige."

The moment her hand is around his neck, Richard panics. Alex can't hurt him; even if she wanted to, she's not physically strong enough. He still wants her _off_. He wants her far, far away from him. From everyone. Richard pushes against her, trying to get himself off the floor, and she pushes back effortlessly. He slips, and his head hits the floor with a _crack_ _!_ Alex tilts her head like it's a game.

And she intends to win.

She lifts him by the neck with strength that Alex Reagan does not possess. His feet come off the ground, and the pressure around his throat tightens. "Alex," he sputters. "I can't..."

"Breathe?" she says knowingly.

This isn't Alex.

He doesn't know what makes him realize it. His mind screams that this can't be right, because if the body of Alex Reagan isn't inhabited by the mind of Alex Reagan, then something is happening that shouldn't exist. Something he doesn't want to reconcile because that means admitting his life's work has a flaw in it. But Alex would never do this, not even the hollowed out, insomnia-ridden ghost of herself would do this.

But someone else would. Correction:  _something_ else would.

A fear he hasn't felt since 1992 envelops him.

" _You._ "

The demon smiles, lips stretched far too wide for Alex's heart-shaped face. "There's the believer we know and love."

She lets go, and he crumples to the floor. He coughs several times. His head feels like it's one squeeze away from popping open. He somehow manages to stand, leaning against an armchair for support. The demon in Alex's body strides through the office to Alex's desk.

 _Alex_. He would give anything to have her by his side right now.

"Why are you doing this?" His voice is raspy. He can still feel the ghost of her hand tight around his neck.

"Relax, they still want you alive." He wonders who _they_ are but decides against interrupting the demon possessing his friend's body a second time. "I'm simply here to deliver a message. Now where does she..." the demon rifles through Alex's desk. Her eyes light up when she finds Alex's recorder. "Here we go."

She shouldn't be holding Alex's recorder.

He flinches when she jabs the record button. "Testing, testing, one, two- is that how these recordings work?" the demon asks Richard. Before he can answer, she's speaking into the recorder again. "Whatever. This message is for Alex Reagan. I'm here with..."

She thrusts the recorder in Richard's face. He eyes her warily but complies. "Dr. Richard Strand." He hopes Alex will pick up on the unwillingness in his voice.

"When you come to, you're going to find the good doctor a little worse for wear. How are you feeling, Richard?" she says, closer to him than he'd like.

"I'm fine."

She grabs him by his hair and yanks his head back. "Come on, we both know you're a better liar than that. Tell Alex how you _really_ feel, Richard. I want to hear the emotion."

"My neck hurts," Richard says dryly.

She releases him. "God, I wish you could see his face right now." The demon laughs to herself. "Anyways Miss Reagan, I want you to take Richard in. Examine every inch of him. Because what I did to him? That is  _nothing_ compared to what I'm capable of. And should you continue your investigation, this will happen again. Who knows?" The demon gazes at Richard with venom in her eyes. "Maybe I'll give Richard's body a try."

With that, she drops the recorder, not even bothering to press the stop button. Her focus is entirely back to Richard now. He can't tell what she'll do next. Whoever summoned the demon wants him alive. But demons forget. As she said, there is much more she is capable of.

"Do you like her?" she asks.

Even that.

His words are caught in his throat. There is something about hearing those words from Alex's mouth, despite knowing that this is far from Alex, that paralyzes him. Even with the demon examining him like a bug under a microscope, Richard can't help but see Alex. If he lost her, if the demon stayed in her body, seeing Alex like this would be torture. What if he never does see her again?

He realizes the answer to her question. And it terrifies him too much to speak.

"Answer me." She doesn't make a move to hurt him this time. Her stillness is somehow even more intimidating. Like if he gives one wrong answer, she'll strike.

"Yes," he chokes out.

"And how would you feel if you never saw her again?" she says.

"Confused. Frustrated. Sad."

Wrong answer.

The demon slams him into the wall, hands pressed against his chest like talons. She murmurs, "I could stay in this body until it withers and dies. Because frankly," she grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, "I _like_ this body. I like the effect it has on you."

They are close enough that Richard can feel her breath on him. It is like heat coming from a furnace, and she is on the verge of dragging him in. Worse, the warmth of her body reminds him that Alex is somewhere in there.

"Enough. You've delivered your message." He hates how feeble he sounds. He can't save Alex. But he has to try. "Get out of her. Please."

The demon ignores him. "How long did it take you to get here after I hung up? Ten minutes?" Eight. Not that he's correcting her. "You're no different from a dog. I call, you come running."

And then she lets him go, even taking the time to smooth down his jacket. Richard is ramrod stiff. The blood on the side of his face is starting to dry. On impulse, she removes his glasses and sets them down on the desk. In one final touch, she runs her fingers through his hair. Inspecting her handiwork, the demon's gaze drifts to his neck. Her lips curl into a wicked smile. He can see the barest bones of an idea forming.

"In fact... sit."

He glares at her but does as he's told.

"Stay."

From his spot on the floor, he watches her go back to Alex's desk. She reaches for Alex's letter opener. It's an ornate antique with crusted rhinestones and an impractically sharp blade, something Alex probably purchased for irony. 

She points it at him.

"Come."

It takes all his willpower not to bolt out of the building. If it were anyone but Alex, he would. He approaches the demon with caution and stops right at the tip of the letter opener. She's right. He's no better than a dog.

"Now kiss me."

" _What?_ "

He doesn't mean to say that out loud, but she catches him off guard. Richard's heart skips. There's no chance to conceal the shock, the revulsion, the _fear_ in his voice, and the demon picks up on it instantly. She raises the letter opener. This is it. This is the moment where she slits his throat. What will Alex do when the demon leaves her? Seeing him on the floor in a pool of his own blood, the murder weapon in her hand. Will she call the police? Will she run?

But none of that happens. The demon instead raises the letter opener to  _Alex's_ throat.

Richard bites back a gasp. The blade draws a thin line of blood against Alex's pale skin. It's only a shallow cut, he tells himself. Alex is still alive. But the glint of the blade promises worse. "Do it," the demon orders. 

Kissing Alex Reagan has crossed Richard's mind more times than he'd care to admit. Usually during late nights in the office when the both of them are sleep-deprived and running on fumes of caffeine. When she brushes up against him while grabbing a pen or when he says her name, and she looks up from whatever she's working on. The image of her lips against his is always a fleeting one, but nonetheless a persistent one.

Not like this though. Never like this.

It could be far worse. It  _will_ be far worse if Richard doesn't do this.

And so Richard cups Alex's face and gently presses his lips against hers. He only intends to kiss her for a couple seconds, but her free hand snakes around to the back of his head and pulls him closer. Her lips taste of mint tea. Alex's favorite. The coldness of the letter opener against her neck reminds him that this isn't her at all. 

Despite that, it is a kiss that could break a princess from a spell. But when Richard wrenches himself away, there is no burst of light, no waking moment where the Alex he knows returns triumphantly to him. The demon sneers. "Someone's out of practice."

He feels sick. 

Like the recorder, the demon drops the letter opener and leaves Richard standing in the middle of the office. "I have to say, you had a perfectly good opportunity and you wasted it," the demon comments. "I haven't kissed a mortal in two centuries, and I don't even get a little tongue?"

"I couldn't- I wouldn't do that to her," Richard says.

The demon rolls her eyes, a mannerism that eerily resembles one of Alex's. "Shame. We both know this is the closest to love you're ever going to get."

That comment stings coming from Alex's mouth. 

An alarm goes off on Alex's phone. The demon picks it up and glances at the screen before tossing it back on the desk. "Looks like my time here is almost up. Any pressing questions?"

Of all the questions Richard could ask an alleged demon, there's only one pressing at the front of his mind. "Why her?"

She gives him a look that says _Really? That's the one you picked?_ "Jealous? It's a lot less calculated than you think. I saw an opportunity. I took it. She was much easier to slip into than you were."

The insomnia. Of course. 

The demon stretches and smiles at Richard. "Big things are coming, Richard. But don't worry. You'll get your turn."

With that, her eyes rolls back into her head, and she collapses like a doll.

Richard rushes to her side. He scoops her up in his arms, desperately feeling for a pulse, hoping for a sign that Alex isn't gone. She's so still that when her eyes flutter open, Richard thinks the demon isn't through with him yet.

Her name is a faint breath on his lips. "Alex." All it takes is her looking at him for Richard to know that this is her. Wonderfully, painfully her.

Still groggy, she asks innocently, "How long was I asleep?" Then she spots the gash on Richard's head. "But you were in..." She lets out a whimper. She's figuring it out. He can see her taking everything in as her face twists into a look of horror. "Oh my god, I thought it was a dream."

He shakes his head. "Alex, this wasn't your fault."

But she knows that already. What gets to them both _is_ how much this wasn't her fault. Trying to keep tears back, she repeats "I thought it was a dream," once then again then again and then she's caught in a loop. She breaks when Richard pulls her close to him the same way he used to when Charlie had a bad dream. Blood and tears mix as she wracks out several large sobs. Richard simply holds her. Because what else can he do at this point?

Then she stops. Suddenly too, like a faucet's been turned off. Alex pulls away from him, drying her eyes and pushing her hair back. The only way to tell she's been crying is the redness of her eyes. She says quietly, "I'll grab a first aid kit."

They silently patch each other up, each of them avoiding the other's gaze. Alex halfheartedly mentions going to a hospital, but neither one of them feels like driving. The cut on her neck is fine. Richard's much more banged up. The most severe physical injuries are his two gashes, but he doesn't think he'll need stitches. He can live with a scar or two.

The mental trauma is a completely different story. Alex always puts up a brave front, even with the insomnia. Still, Richard senses neither one of them is going to forget this easily.

Injuries taken care of, there's one thing left. They both turn their attention to the recorder, the red light still blinking. Alex picks it up and presses the stop button. She inhales sharply, and for a moment, Richard worries she'll cry again. But Alex steels herself. She's all journalism now. "I need to hear this."

He does too.

They sit at her desk, listening to the twisted, "interview" in silence. Richard finds himself missing Alex's little comments and interjections whenever they're listening to one of his Black Tapes. He glances over at Alex; her face betrays no emotion. Hearing himself on the tape is surreal enough. He can't imagine what she's feeling.

They reach _that_ part. Richard stands. 

"Where are you going?"

"I can't listen to this part." Living through it was more than enough.

He walks down the hallway. Despite being out of the room, the entire conversation plays in his head. The guilt clings to him like a layer of grime. Much to his shame, embarrassment too. At least Alex let him leave.

Getting out of the office does him good. It allows him to think. When Richard thinks, everything is much less frightening. As he paces down the hallway, he forms a few theories behind Alex's strange behavior. Because it had to be Alex. A number of things could have altered her state of mind: drugs, hypnosis, even sleepwalking. Insomnia does a number on the human brain.

By the time he's walking back, Richard is back to the skeptic that entered Pacific Northwest Stories for the first time that night. The least he can do is give Alex peace of mind. It won't make up for the events of tonight, but it's all he can do.

Of course, then he sees her.

She sits at her desk, looking smaller than normal in her office. Her shoulders are hunched over her recorder, and although the recording stopped several minutes ago, she stares blankly at the device. Richard clears his throat, and she looks up, startled.

"I..." Every theory he has flies right out of his head when he sees the bandage on her neck. "You listened to the whole thing?"

"Yeah," Alex says. She rubs her arms. "You, um... you seemed really scared."

"I was scared. That something was wrong with you." Why did he say that? It feels like they're dancing around what they really want to talk about. Alex heard everything. She has to know. Richard walks toward her, awkwardly hovering around her desk. Now would be the perfect time to bring it up. So naturally he latches on to the one thing he's good at. "Alex, I promise you there's a logical explanation behind-"

"You kissed me," Alex says.

And it's out there.

Richard can feel himself turning red. Alex looks at him expectantly for an explanation. "I wouldn't have done it, but you could have hurt yourself. I never would have forgiven myself if something happened to you that I could have prevented. If it helps..." He sighs. "It probably  _doesn't_ help, but the kiss didn't last very long-"

Alex cuts his tangent off with a kiss on the lips. And this _is_ Alex kissing him. Because her kiss is gentle, even a tad hesitant. On any other day, he'd melt. Unfortunately, today he's frozen solid.

She pulls away. Her cheeks are flushed. Richard stares at her quizzically. "Now we're even on one thing," she explains.

"I suppose so."

They both know they are  _far_ from even.

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt this would ever happen, but it's fun to speculate! I kind of want to write a flipped version where Strand gets possessed by a demon. But maybe not because this was actually really hard to write. I ended up deleting the first draft entirely and rewriting it into this version.


End file.
